


SPF 15 (is not enough)

by Ad_Astra



Series: Ultraviolet [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, Humour, M/M, manwhore!Mukuro, unforgivable food analogies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Astra/pseuds/Ad_Astra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set 12YL. Sawada Tsunayoshi is decidedly and emphatically a straight man. But that was before he had a front row view of Mukuro happening to Hibari. Somehow, this results to his second-in-command suddenly becoming a lot more charming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SPF 15 (is not enough)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [byakuzee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/byakuzee/gifts).



> Beta'd by [Takigawa Aki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/akanoaki) who has done a commendable job of pruning out my usual writing ailments of unnecessary commas and horrific tense changes. Added a few bits after initial beta-ing so any mistakes from here on are mine and mine alone.

Sawada Tsunayoshi appreciates the ladies. This is a fact. He gets turned on by cleavage, not cock; and would rather go muff diving than ass spelunking. He prefers the soft curves and the sweet scent of the fairer sex than the hard lines and heady musk of his fellow men. Indeed, for all of his life, he has always been as straight as the shortest distance between two points.

 

Or so he’s believed himself to be. Until that fateful day, when his attempt to hand out joint punishment to his insubordinate mist and cloud guardians spectacularly backfired, seeing as said punishment turned out to be less of a punitive measure and more of a superior quality voyeur wet dream, in which he was forced to observe and endure all the toxic fumes of sexy gay violence aerating from it.

 

Gokudera Hayato has been Tsuna’s right hand man even before Tsuna accepted his destiny to become a mighty little lord of the underground kingdom, let alone Gokudera’s destiny to stay by his side every step of the way. His second-in-command is single-mindedly devoted to Tsuna and both their titles. Not only does Gokudera oversee more than half of Vongola’s operations, he actually enjoys doing so, unlike Tsuna, who still wakes up every day wondering what it’s like to be involved in a less dehumanizing career choice--like, say, ditch-digging or being that guy who cremates the dead. Gokudera says “Tenth” like it’s the most important word in every language, and looks at Tsuna like he’s the source of all that is good and just. It’s been that way since they were teenagers, way back when Tsuna was still a loser whose finest moments involved performing unusual physical feats dressed in nothing but his underpants, and continue to do so even now. _Especially_ now that Tsuna’s capable of performing his finest moments fully dressed.

 

These are the things Tsuna has taken for granted for all of 12 years. Like light seeping along the cracks of an ancient tunnel, Tsuna’s world has suddenly become illuminated by Mukuro’s contagious prurience, throwing Tsuna’s previous Gokudera lexicon out of whack. What used to be looks of loyalty have suddenly become ravenous stares, and what used to be the voice of unconditional obedience is now suddenly the tremble of deep and relentless longing.

 

Now, this wouldn’t normally be a problem.Tsuna’s no stranger to people’s affections, and Gokudera, despite his very vocal shows of loyalty, has always kept a respectful distance.

 

It’s when he started noticing things about _himself_ that things start going downhill.

 

Gokudera’s always been a constant presence by Tsuna’s side, always there whether Tsuna needed him or not. Tsuna has never looked closely because he doesn’t have to. Now, however, as a direct result of recent events, this is no longer the case. As the saying goes, the devil is in the details, and right now, Tsuna’s noticing _a lot_ of devils.

 

Like Gokudera’s pianist fingers, and how they manage to still look graceful and elegant, despite the multitude of rings decorating them. Or the way his Versace suit falls on his lanky frame, crisp and snappy, every bit of him exuding the grace and power of Vongola’s second-in-command. Or even the way he smells clean all the time--spicy mint and a hint of aftershave, which are immediate by-products of having successfully quit smoking seven years ago.

 

And the little devils, he discovers to his great dismay, are marvelously _attractive._

 

It doesn’t help that he seems to have coincidentally developed a knack for “accidentally” catching his guardians and allies in various states of impropriety; e.g. bending down to grab his fallen pen only to discover Yamamoto playing footsies with Dino under the table; opening the kitchen door for a midnight snack and witnessing Hibari and Mukuro engaged in angry, violent congress on the counter where food is prepared; catching the tail end of Squalo and Yamamoto’s sparring matches, where he learns the hard way what Dino meant when he said he’s partial to the two rain guardian’s “advanced sword play” level of practice.

 

Clearly, the universe is trying to tell him something, but it’s something Tsuna, being the emphatically straight man that he is, doesn’t want to think about unless he absolutely has to.

 

It should be noted that the restocking schedule of his liquor cabinet has been adjusted to twice a week instead of just once, shortly after this realization. Gokudera attributes it to work-related stress; Tsuna attributes it to alcohol-aided pussyfooting, cleverly disguised as work-related stress.

 

Of course, there’s always the possibility that he’s wrong and that he’s reading far too much on this whole thing, having been exposed to too much Mukuro radiation. A very miniscule possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. 

 

Eventually though, he could no longer delay the inevitable. He’s long past the age of running away from his problems. He needs to acknowledge this proverbial pink elephant and deal with it somehow. Because really, it would be better to work on something concrete, instead of losing sleep over fruitless speculation.

 

It’s in the middle of a mission briefing involving his thunder and mist guardians when Tsuna abruptly asks out loud, apropos of nothing:

 

“Do you think the reason Gokudera’s never had a boyfriend or girlfriend is because of me?”

 

The ensuing silence drops on him like a stone dropping into water.  .

 

“What?” he asks defensively.

 

They all react at the same time.

 

“Oya oya Tsunayoshi-kun, I know you are astonishingly clueless, but I didn’t know it was on Darwin fodder level already.”

 

“Oh, Boss, you’re so cute.”

 

“Seriously Tsuna-nii? How can you be this oblivious and lead an underground empire ten thousand strong?” 

 

Huh. Well, Lambo’s no authority on homoerotic attraction, what with his growing collection of gorgeous and vindictive ex-girlfriends, Chrome is far from anyone’s idea of a normal point of view, and Mukuro’s a pathological liar; not to mention that he’d screw a bent pole, if it’s as crooked as himself.

 

So naturally, Tsuna asks around for other opinions. 

 

“Li’l bro, Gokudera’s obsessed with you in the pretty much the same way Kyouya’s obsessed with Namimori!”

 

“VOIIIII, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? THAT SHITTY DYNAMITE BRAT IS ALL OVER YOU LIKE XANXUS IS ALL OVER EXPENSIVE TEQUILA!”

 

“He’s EXTREMELY IN LOVE with you, Sawada!”                                       

 

“Haha, Tsuna, seriously, you didn’t know? He’s into you more than I’m into baseball and Ryohei-senpai’s into boxing combined.”

 

“Your idiocy is astounding. I should think it’s obvious that he’s besotted with you in the same way that perverted pathogen is besotted with himself.”

 

“So, taking all these things into consideration, Dame-Tsuna, overall, he’s taken to you with what seems to be a lethal combination of irrational overprotectiveness, punch-drunk lunacy and overzealous obsession,” Reborn summarizes neatly for him, along with helpful diagrams and colour charts laid out on a powerpoint-screen Leon. “Which, as you can see, often result to showy displays of violence for any damage or insult made upon your person.”

 

Tsuna stares at the overwhelming evidence before him. “For the past 12 years?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Wow,” Tsuna says, jaw slacking as he falls back on his chair. “I’m a dumbass.”

 

“See, this knowledge is already improving your level of self-awareness,” Reborn says, nodding approvingly, and clicks to the last slide of Tsuna’s infamous teenage “HIEEEEE” face, with a corresponding thought light bulb. “Good job.”

 

Tsuna only nods distractedly, brain still not yet getting over an irreparable error; one can practically see the ‘abort or retry’ screen in his eyes.

 

“So now that you know,” Reborn speaks up again when Tsuna just keeps gaping stupidly like a landed fish for a full minute, “what are you going to do about it?”

 

The question hits Tsuna’s sensibilities like a sledgehammer on ice. His face falls. What indeed.

 

Obviously, the attraction is somewhat mutual, if not totally equal in terms of intensity. The problem is…well.

 

“Papan,” Sawada Tomoe, future Vongola Undicesimo and the single beautiful product of Tsuna’s loins, fixes him a curious stare as she munches on a cookie. “Uncle Hayato’s looking at you weird again.”

 

It’s a good thing Tsuna just finished swallowing his sip of cappuccino, because it would otherwise be splattered all over his daughter’s new princess dress and he’ll have hell to pay for in the form of Haru and a non-negotiable lecture on respecting her vicarious childhood-dream fulfillment via Kyoko's daughter.

 

“Hush, sweetheart, don’t be rude,” Kyoko says, as she carefully braids Tomoe’s hair. “That’s perfectly normal for Uncle Hayato.”

 

Tsuna nods maybe a little bit too enthusiastically. “Yes,” he says. “It’s not weird—he’s probably just... anxious for today’s meeting. Or something.”

 

“But Papan,” Tomoe argues, her cute cherub nose all scrunched up. “It’s like the way Uncle Mukuro stares at Uncle Kyouya sometimes. And you. And Uncle Dino. And pretty much everyone.”

 

“Mmm, does he now?” Kyoko says lightly. Tsuna nervously steals a glance at his wife, but her face is a mask of neutral sweetness, as if this information is nothing of consequence.

 

His daughter though, is another story altogether. Clearly, she inherited the prerequisite hyper intuition for the Vongola boss title. “Yes,” she insists and raises an eyebrow at her father. “Don’t you feel sticky, Papan?”

 

“…Sticky?”

 

“Yup. That’s how Uncle Dino describes it.”

 

Tsuna makes a mental note to have a word with his self-proclaimed big brother very soon. “No, Tomoe darling, I assure you Uncle Hayato does _not_ make me feel sticky at all. Uncle Hayato is just… very loyal to Papan.”

 

His impressionable scion is not convinced. “Uncle Mukuro looks at everyone the same way, and Uncle Hayato said he’s as far removed from loyalty as Uncle Dino is from walking gracefully on flat surfaces.”

 

Okay, new agenda on the next guardians meeting: a thorough discussion on what you can and cannot say to the future Vongola Undicesimo. Also Mukuro’s exciting new mission in the wonderful icescapes of Siberia. 

 

Luckily, Kyoko is a far more level-headed parent than he is, and takes charge. “Oh sweetheart, it’s part of Uncle Hayato’s job to protect Papan,” she explains gently. “Part of that job is watching over him.” She ties an orange bow at the end of Tomoe’s braid and smiles brilliantly at Tsuna. “And he just happens to do that job extremely well.”

 

“Yes. What your mother said.” Tsuna clears his throat, and stands up abruptly, his appetite vastly diminished. “Anyway, I have to, uh, finish reading over the trade agreements with the Cavallone,” he announces, and bends to kiss his wife and daughter.

 

“Of course, Tsu-kun,” Kyoko says, smiling serenely at him. “See you at dinner later.”

 

“Uncle Dino says a cold shower helps with the sticky feeling!” Tomoe calls out, and Tsuna nearly walks into the door frame.

 

He does not go to his office. He does not even go to his room. He even ignores the sound of expensive china breaking as he passes by Mukuro’s supposedly never inhabited office. Instead, he goes straight to the underground headquarters, bypassing security and training rooms, until he ends up at the medical ward.

 

Now, Tsuna loves Kyoko with all his heart and soul, and he is in no way considering becoming unfaithful to her. What he is right now is confused, lost, and desperately in need of guidance. Even Mafia bosses are subject to the ever dynamic nuances of a sexual identity crisis.

 

And so, he goes to the only person he believes could help him in this dilemma.

 

“Dr. Shamal, you like women, right?”

 

Shamal doesn’t glance up from the Penthouse issue he’s perusing. “Is the sky blue? Is water wet?”

 

Tsuna takes this as a sign that he’s welcome for some man-to-man advice and makes himself comfortable on a nearby chair. “Well, I also like women,” he starts nervously, internally calming himself long enough to be coherent about something as monumentally important as this.  “I mean, obviously, I’m married with a child, but you get the picture.”

 

“… Okay.”

 

“But then there’s also Hayato.”

 

Shamal gives a vague dismissive gesture with his hand and flips a page. “See, if you want to talk to me about girls, it’s best not to start with that blasted student of mine.”

 

“Well, Hayato is not a girl.”

 

“Yes, a pity, that.”

 

“And he’s in love with me.”

 

Shamal finally looks up from his magazine. “Will you be making your point any time soon? Within the next century perhaps?”

 

“That’s _the_ point, he’s _in love_ with _me_.”

 

Shamal just blinks at him. “That’s your big problem?” he snorts, then goes back his magazine. “Well shit, here I was thinking that maybe you’re suffering from erectile dysfunction or something equally tragic.”

 

Tsuna jaw drops at this callous dismissal of his life-changing problem, and he leans forward, slamming both hands on the table. “It _is_ a big problem.”

 

Shamal sighs and painstakingly lifts his eyes from his precious porn. “Only if you’re feeling the same attraction back.”

 

“Well,” Tsuna starts, suddenly sounding like he sat on something sharp as he shrinks back, looking greatly fascinated with Barney the Skeleton in the corner. “About that. You see… uh…”

 

This time Shamal actually drops the magazine, and Tsuna gets an eyeful of a naked brunette looking much too excited to hop on a grossly modified exercise bike.  “You must be joking.”

 

Tsuna reaches out and carefully closes the magazine- because the pornographic image makes him very uncomfortable (that bike modification looked like it’s specifically designed to punch a lady’s cervix) and certainly _not_ because he wants to illustrate a point. “No I’m not.”

 

Shamal stares at him with a sort of disbelief normally reserved for people hating on cat gifs. “Holy shit, you just turned down Lexi Belle,” he says.  “Welcome to the Vongola family, straight population: Me.”

 

“And Reborn. And Lambo,” Tsuna corrects, before realizing that this is not helping his cause any and quickly adds, “And I still am madly in love with my wife, okay, only I’m also kinda attracted to Hayato too. I mean, that happens right?”

 

“Not to me.” Tsuna gives him the “I-know-I’m-bothering-you-with-my-sexual-crisis-but-I’m-still-signing-your-paycheck-so-work-with-me-here-goddammit” look, and Shamal shrugs. “Alright, I suppose it does happen.”

 

Tsuna wrings his hands. “So help me out here?”

 

One of Shamal’s eyebrows quirk up. “Vongola, I am a ribald genius in the realm of physical afflictions; sudden onset of bisexualism is unfortunately well beyond my area of expertise.”

 

“I’m not asking you to straighten me out,” Tsuna starts, then promptly realizes how imbecilic that sounds, and hurriedly appends, “I’m asking you to give me some advice on how I’ll deal with this. I mean, if you were in my place.”

 

Shamal gives him a look like Tsuna just suggested he go out and punch random people in the groin for yucks. “First of all, that’s never going to happen to me,” he says. “And second of all, you’re asking the wrong person. You don’t go to a straight man for gay love advice. Your rain guardian would probably be a better bet.” He pauses, as if mulling a thought over in his head, and adds: “Or Rokudo Mukuro, actually.”

 

Tsuna personally thinks that seeking Mukuro for love advice is akin to asking Xanxus for lessons on table etiquette (or any kind of etiquette for that matter), but Mukuro has obviously built a reputation in Vongola as some sort of love/mutual debauchery guru if even Shamal is acknowledging his prowess. 

 

“But you’re his mentor…,” he mumbles, desperately grasping at straws here. As far as potential commiseration goes, Shamal’s not really the most eligible candidate out there, but Tsuna chose him because he’s actually one of the rare people under the Vongola umbrella who isn’t mentally unhinged in some way, even if he is a bit of a creep to anyone with breasts.  Also, it doesn’t hurt that he’s known Gokudera since his formative years, which should account for something.

 

“So?”

 

“Well, you know him best.” Technically, this isn’t strictly true--Bianchi would know Hayato best, but Bianchi, 1.) is the very protective older sister; 2.) the one authority on love that one never wants to be exposed to; 3.) owns a bull castrating implement the length of Tsuna’s whole arm; and 4.) the whole poison cooking business.

 

Shamal snorts. “Decimo, I know _women_ best. I taught Hayato how to use his admittedly significant brain to help him survive; nothing more, as he’s utterly hopeless in anything that doesn’t involve his own personal angst.”

 

“But—“

 

“But nothing. You know, I really don’t understand you,” Shamal says crossly, looking at Tsuna like he’s everything that’s wrong with the world. “You’re the boss of the biggest underground empire in the whole world. You already have a beautiful wife, and even if you don’t, you’re in every position to have any woman you want. And yet you’re mooning over that lousy student of mine. What is it with you and your tendency to do everything you can to complicate your life?“

 

“It’s not like I mean to do it,” Tsuna argues in a small voice. “It’s just that… I’ve never been, you know, _bi_ before. And Hayato’s just…” He makes vague motions with his hands, as if conducting his own private song of woe.

 

“I suppose I see how he’d look like a girl if he has his hair tied up,” Shamal says, in a begrudging offer of comfort.

 

Tsuna makes miserable eyes. “I don’t want to make Hayato unhappy.”

 

Shamal sighs, clearly aware that he’s not getting back to his porn soon if he doesn’t offer up at least some token words of straight-man wisdom. “Okay. You want my advice? Here. The best way out is sometimes through.  Take the bull by the horns. Just do it.”

 

Tsuna opens and closes his mouth a few times before speaking. “By ‘do it’ you mean…”

 

“Oh for god’s sake, just tap his ass and get it over with.”

 

Tsuna gasps, stunned. “What? But that’s…that’s cheating!”

 

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Shamal says, leaning forward and resting his chin on his laced fingers. “But the alternative is, this will plague you for the rest of your life.”

 

Tsuna looks down at the glossy mahogany of the table, suddenly uneasy. “Having unanswered questions is better than becoming unfaithful to my wife…”

 

“Is it?” Shamal pins him with a serious gaze for once.  “You of all people should know how dangerous regrets of inaction can be in our line of business.”

 

“What do you mean? How will my regrets of never telling Hayato how he makes me feel…” Tsuna’s voice trails off and his eyes widen rather comically as he realizes what Shamal’s trying to say, and the subsequent horror that comes with it. “Oh god.”

 

Shamal releases a sound that manages to convey “thank god you’re not irredeemably daft” in one single expulsion of air. “You should know better than anyone that Reborn’s guns are always loaded.”

 

“But it’s so… morally reprehensible,” Tsuna whispers.

 

“Yeah and guess what? So is fifty percent of what your guardians do for a living, but I don’t see you busting your chops over it.”

 

Shamal has a point. Tsuna bites his lip. “Do I have to go that far right away?” he asks nervously, feeling his face heat up at the fact that he’s actually entertaining this ludicrous proposal. “Can’t we like start with something tamer, like hand-holding, light kisses and—“

 

“—Please do not finish that sentence or I’ll be forced to resign right now on account of my supposedly fearless leader suddenly turning into a pre-pubescent girl.”

 

Tsuna frowns. “This will not just affect _me_ … The rest of the guardians might have something to say about this.” Especially Mukuro. Mukuro’s going to be insufferable about this.

 

Shamal rubs his temples and looks at him wearily. “Look, whatever happens, I’m sure your guardians will be _right behind_ you. I mean, in moral support. Not the other context. Well, maybe for Mukuro—“

 

“—I get it.”

 

“Yes, it’s cheating, but you need to be honest with yourself first. Look at Hayato and ask yourself. 'What do I see in him that awakens the fires of homoeroticism within me?'”

 

Tsuna looks up, blushing hotly. “Well...”

 

“P.S. ‘My dick’ is not a valid answer.”

 

Tsuna’s head droops. “Wow,  this is harder than I thought it would be.”

 

Shamal doesn't even look sorry. “That’s what _he_ said.”

 

Tsuna groans, wondering how much alcohol he needs to consume to forget about walking into way too many gay jokes from _Shamal_ in the space of one minute. “So what, that’s it? You’re telling me to... bang him?”

 

“Yes. Just be discreet. And if you can’t be discreet, remember that forgiveness is easier to get than permission.” Shamal picks up his magazine and waves his arm in a clear sign of dismissal. ”And please, for the love of god, _never_ tell me about it.”

 

Tsuna walks back to his office, feeling even more uncertain than ever. Shamal’s advice wasn’t what he expected _at all._ He doesn’t think he can do this to his wife and child, no matter how tempting it is to just give in and take what he wants, knowing Gokudera will be more than happy to give it to him. The risk that comes with having unspoken regrets will always be there but Tsuna can always work around it. He’ll just have to be on his best behaviour at all times if Reborn’s in the nearby vicinity, that’s all. He cannot hurt Kyoko, not after all he’s been through to get her to say yes.

 

*

 

Of course, it goes to reason that a month after that dreaded talk from Shamal, and approximately two weeks into a very important mission in the heart of Monaco, something happens.

 

“What would you like to drink, Tenth?”

 

Tsuna crashes down on the armchair of their posh living room, exhausted but not to the point of skipping out on some well-deserved liquor. “Well, we weren’t a complete failure, so I’m not actually out to get shit-faced,” he says. “Maybe something light, creamy and sweet?”

 

“Hmm…“ Gokudera taps his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps something with chocolate liqueur, amaretto and whipped cream?”

 

Ooh, that sounds promising. “Yes, maybe I can have a sample first?”

 

“Right away, Tenth!”  Gokudera says, and obediently gets to the task, grabbing the necessary items from their hotel’s well-stocked mini-bar. Tsuna smiles as he watches Gokudera flip bottles and toss in liquor in carefully measured splashes, every movement done with an even combination of flair and precision.

 

Twenty seconds later, Gokudera steps out and presents to him a shotglass filled with a delicious-looking chocolatey substance topped with a dollop of whipped cream. Tsuna accepts it graciously, and brings it to his lips, tossing his head back to drink it in one go. 

 

“So how’s the blow job, Tenth?”

 

Well, Tsuna’s certainly put the blow in it, judging from how he sputters whipped cream and Bailey's down his newly purchased Versace suit.

 

“ _What?_ ” he croaks out.

 

“Your shooter, Tenth,” Gokudera prompts, not minding Tsuna’s slobber a single bit. “I’m not sure how much whipped cream you’d like.”

 

“Shooter...whipped cream?”

 

“Yes, do you want less or more whipped cream with that blow job, Tenth?”

 

Tsuna stares at Gokudera for a long while, blinking sporadically, before closing his eyes and groaning. “Ohmygod, Mukuro, get the fuck out of Hayato right now.” Cursing isn’t in Tsuna’s nature, but any situation involving his creepy mist guardian is a perfectly acceptable time to call for it.

 

Except that Mukuro apparently isn’t anywhere near the room, because he’s currently in a Siberian mine with Hibari, terrorizing some hapless gang into surrendering their stash of illegally acquired chromite for the Foundation and Vongola’s joint ring development project.  He’s immediately overcome with guilt when Gokudera gives him a stricken look, as if Tsuna just kicked him in the balls and repeatedly ground a heel on them.

 

“Tenth…it’s really me. I was just asking if you wanted more or less whipped cream with your drink,” Gokudera says, with a little tremble in his voice that does some weird things to Tsuna’s groin.  “You wanted chocolate liqueur and amaretto, which in the International Association of Bartenders list of cocktails, is better known as a blow job.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

Of course it’s a drink. Of course. He should have known—Dino had personally schooled him on the subject of liquor and its many variants, including the section on obscenely named cocktails. Seriously, how could he even forget something as memorable and delicious as the ‘blow job?’

 

“Well,” he continues, attempting to gather some modicum of composure despite the fact that his facial blood vessels are now conspiring against him in a way that shouldn’t be biologically possible.  “Uh. This is awkward.”  He chuckles nervously, and the hand that isn’t holding the shot glass lands on his lap.

 

Holy shit, why is he hard? When did that happen?

 

Gokudera’s still looking at him with that wounded puppy gaze. “Why would you think I’ve been possessed, Tenth?”

 

Tsuna honestly doesn’t know how to answer that, and, against his better judgment, decides to settle on the truth. “Because I seriously thought that you were going to kneel down…” Did it get hot in here or did Gokudera’s eyes just become a lot more smouldering? “And uh…” 

 

Gokudera leans forward, pupils dilated, hanging on to his every word. “And?”

 

“And, um…pleasure me orally.” Tsuna swallows. “You know. But that’s crazy talk. Oh god, I’m drunk, can we just pretend that this never happened?”

 

Except that this seems to be the opposite of what Gokudera has in mind because he is now looking at Tsuna’s crotch like it’s the cure for cancer. His eyes are misty and his lip quivers very prettily when he looks up at Tsuna. “Tenth...it’s not crazy,” he whispers. “I can do that for you too.”

 

If Tsuna's drunk before, he’s definitely sobering up now. “What?” he squeaks out. “No! I mean, I want it, but-- I can’t take advantage of you like that Hayato, that’s way against mafia rules of engagement.” Not even “I’m married,” which he is, or “I’m not gay,” which would be a partial lie. Tsuna has a sinking feeling that things are about to get complicated very soon.

 

Gokudera makes a small unintelligible noise of happiness, which immediately sends warning bells ringing in Tsuna’s head. He desperately racks his brain for a way to get out of this situation gracefully, but he is only able to slightly shift his left foot towards the direction of the open window, when Gokudera pre-emptively prevents him from escaping as he skids to his knees at Tsuna’s feet.“You can take advantage of me any time, Tenth,” he says, with a truly disturbing kind of eagerness that turns the warning bells into full-blown panic in Tsuna’s head . “Tonight, tomorrow, every day, the rest of my life, _always._ ”

 

Tsuna is struck mute and could only stare at his very excited and extremely hopeful right-hand man, wondering if his life has finally reached the event horizon of  irreconcilable lunacy.

 

“Please, Tenth? Let me?”

 

He wants to say _no_ , but his confused boner is making him say _fuck yeah._

He’s in the heart of a mission, far away from home. _Just tap his ass and get it over with_ , Shamal said. Just once. “Okay,” he finally says, and Gokudera brightens up like a supernova.  “Let’s uh, go to my room.”

 

*

 

So here he is, in his hotel suite in Monte Carlo, nervously preparing himself to receive an actual, non-alcoholic blowjob from his forever faithful Storm guardian.

 

He's not supposed to be doing this. He has a loving wife, a beautiful daughter, and a brother-in-law who will beat the shit out of him for hurting his little sister, boss or not. So what if this mission is extended a week longer than usual; he's not Mukuro, he can survive a few days without hearing imaginary mating calls.

 

Apparently not, because here Gokudera is, kneeling between Tsuna's legs and undoing his fly, looking like a kid who's about to open his first ever Christmas present—and Tsuna is just sitting there, letting him, despite the myriad reasons why this is a horrifically bad idea, regardless of whatever Shamal said.

 

The feel of Gokudera's long fingers gripping his thighs vehemently argues this point, though. Really, at his core, Sawada Tsunayoshi is still a man underneath, with needs and sporadic tendencies to let his other head do the thinking.

 

Besides, they're in the penthouse of the most expensive hotel in Monte Carlo, having just finished concluding a top secret negotiation on box weapons that even the Foundation's far-reaching intelligence has not yet tapped. What's the worst that could happen?

 

Of course, like clockwork, Murphy responds swiftly and with much enthusiasm in the form of Tsuna's supposedly locked hotel room opening with an ominous creak.

 

"Tsu-kun, thank goodness I found you—Oh."

 

Tsuna's world crashes down on him, and he and Gokudera practically catapult themselves away from each other--Tsuna landing on the other side of the bed, and Gokudera plastering himself against the wall. "Kyoko, this really isn't what it looks—," Tsuna babbles reflexively, before catching the shock in Kyoko's eyes in the dim light, and he shuts up, silently pleading with the universe for lightning to strike him where he stands instead.

 

A few awkward seconds pass, with Gokudera and him exchanging panicked, hysterical looks, but sadly, the universe does not oblige.

 

Tsuna sighs and loosens his death grip on the duvet, accepting this epic self-defeat on all fronts. "…Oh who am I kidding, yes, this is exactly what it looks like," he mumbles. With his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he stands up from the bed and shakily zips up his pants with as much dignity as a man caught cheating on his wife is allowed (that is, absolutely zero) and resolves to take whatever it is Kyoko's going to throw at him, because he's a dirty, lying scumbag who deserves to be drawn and quartered then stuffed into a car and thrown into piranha-infested waters—

 

Kyoko breathes out a sigh of what unbelievably sounds like _relief_. '"Oh thank goodness, I was wondering when this would happen."

 

Tsuna violent scenarios of death via Kyoko come to a screeching halt. "…You were wondering… You mean…huh buh what?" he sputters, feeling like the universe just sucker-punched him a second time. This isn't what happens in the movies! Where's the yelling and crying and launching of nearby projectiles?

 

"Tsu-kun," Kyoko says with a familiar, disturbingly placid smile, as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. That's the thing with Kyoko, sometimes it's really hard to tell the difference between her 'I'm happy for you' smile and the 'I'll happily see to your miserable demise, you dishonourable sod' smile. "It's really not unheard of for powerful bosses to have affairs. Really, I understand."

 

"But, Kyoko…," Tsuna says, confusion and panic overwhelming him in inconvenient amounts as he scrambles for something, _anything_ to say, his mind flying off in different directions— _is she going to divorce me, will Onii-san castrate me, will Mukuro still want to possess my body if I no longer have serviceable testicles_ \--and settles on stating the obvious: "I'm pretty sure I just committed adultery."

 

Kyoko smiles at Gokudera briefly and walks over to her husband. "Don't be silly Tsu-kun. It's fine."

 

Tsuna stares at Kyoko's impossibly sincere eyes, which are the only things stopping him from convincing himself that Mukuro's out to play perverse, unfunny tricks on him again. "Why are you not yelling at me like a normal person?"

 

"Oh, Tsu-kun," Kyoko sighs, smiling ruefully as she sits beside him on the bed. She takes his hands and squeezes them slightly, as if trying to impress the reality of her countenance on his unconvinced, disbelieving, fool self. "Look at it this way— say your favourite food is sushi. But you can't eat sushi everyday; sometimes you are craving good ol' steak."

 

Tsuna blinks at her. "…I'm not entirely sure how this is related to Hayato's intentions to give me head."

 

"In my case, I love myself a hearty, meaty T-bone steak," Kyoko continues as if Tsuna has not spoken. "But too much steak is bad for my heart, and I need to supplement it with sushi, too."

 

"Why are we talking about food?"

 

Kyoko just keeps talking. "As Hayato is your right-hand man, Haru's been my best friend growing up in this mafia business. We understand each other. We've undergone the same training under Lal Mirch and Bianchi. We share the same reverence for cake," she continues earnestly, moving closer and squeezing his hands tighter. "What I'm getting at is…apart from our marriage bond, we also need bonds between fellow men, and in my case, bonds between fellow women." She takes a deep breath and peers at him with her benevolent amber gaze. "Do you…do you understand what I'm saying?"

 

Tsuna nods slowly, and expresses his takeaway from all of these gastronomic metaphors with: "So Haru is…sushi?"

 

Kyoko nods encouragingly.

 

"And you like both steak and sushi…" Tsuna's Reborn-trained mind is now rapidly adding two and two and discovering that four is…actually pretty damn hot. Kyoko and Haru, huh, who would've guessed. He's pretty sure there are many questionable things in this loosely proposed arrangement but if Kyoko's suggesting what he thinks she is, Tsuna's not really in a position to object, considering that she caught Gokudera hovering over Tsuna's traitorous wang just scant minutes prior. "Well, I guess that's…acceptable."

 

Kyoko beams and kisses him on the cheek. "I knew you'd understand!"

 

Tsuna clears his throat. "So how did you figure out that Hayato and I..." He lets the sentence trail off, throwing Gokudera a quick glance, trusting Kyoko understands.

 

Kyoko does. "Oh, Tsuna, remember that time in Paris when you told me that I just gave you the most mind-blowing oral sex in your whole life?" she says with a short, demure giggle.

 

"Kyoko!" Tsuna hisses, face flaming. "Not in front of Hayato!"

 

Kyoko ignores him and, right before Tsuna's eyes, winks conspiratorially at Gokudera. "Guess who gave me advice on how to do that?"

 

"…" Tsuna can only look at Gokudera incredulously, as Gokudera makes a valiant attempt to enter osmosis with the expensive Persian carpet.

 

"Hayato will explain it to you," Kyoko says sweetly, as she stands up and practically floats out the door. "Or better yet, _show_ you."

 

The door closes softly. Tsuna takes a moment to convince himself that this is actually happening, and that he just didn't get transported to a parallel world where it's perfectly normal for wives to encourage their philandering husbands to engage in homoerotic hijinks with their terrifyingly obsessive right hand men.

 

"Tenth?" Gokudera whispers cautiously, inching closer and looking every bit the cute and hopeful puppy everyone this side of Italy calls him to be.

 

Tsuna takes a deep, calming breath. "So you really gave her advice for that?"

 

Gokudera goes adorably red again but his voice is firm when he says, "Yes."

 

There's a short beat of hesitation as Tsuna carefully considers his life choices so far and what this new one would entail. At worst, Mukuro's going to be a total smug bastard about this, he can feel it. At best…well, he gets both his wife AND his right hand man, along with express permission to do pornographic things with either of them without a guilty conscience.

 

"Well, okay," he finally says, watching Gokudera's face light up like a solar flare as he wastes no time in resuming his earlier position at Tsuna's feet. "I guess this could work out."

 

And that had been the start of T-bone Tuesdays.

 

*

 

“Excuse me for a minute, Tenth,” Gokudera calls out, waiting for Tsuna to enter his office, before jogging off further into the corridor and entering the guardians’ lounge.

 

Several pairs of eyes turn to look at him, all with varying degrees of curiosity and hopefulness.

 

Mukuro, in fact, is positively leering. “Well?” he asks.

 

Gokudera punches him in the face. “Fuck you.”

 

Mukuro doesn’t even blink at the unprovoked hit (please, it’s not like he doesn’t get the same shit from Kyouya five times before breakfast), and manages an amiable, deceptively polite smile while wiping blood off the corner of his lip. “I take it that it went well.”

 

“He thought you _possessed_ me.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Mukuro says blithely. “So come off it, we don’t have all day. Who won?”

 

Gokudera snorts, but not without the usual vitriol, and points to Mukuro--with a rather _expressive_ middle digit--before turning around and storming out the room, closing the door to the sound of collective groaning and swearing from the other occupants.

 

Mukuro rises from his seat with the flourish of one who’s about to get a lot of good things coming his way, and heads over to the whiteboard on the wall, which contains the betting pool diagram.

 

“I can’t believe Tsuna fell for the blow job trick,” Dino mutters, as he flops down gracelessly next to Yamamoto on the couch, warily eyeing Mukuro’s gloating expression.

 

“Let’s see…,“ Mukuro stage-whispers, tapping his fingers on the whiteboard, illusions flowing from his fingertips as he goes.  “Ryohei, you are hereby going to allow your box animal to train with Ken’s Tasmanian devil.”

 

Ryohei makes a noise between a roar of outrage and disgruntled sigh, somehow producing the effect of an anally assaulted rhino. “Garyuu is going to be EXTREMELY DISPLEASED.”

 

Mukuro waves his hand dismissively. “They’ll get along fine. They come from the same continent after all.”

 

“KENTAZ HAS EXTREME BITES.”

 

“Sun attribute. Healer, heal thyself.”

 

Ryohei sighs and mutters soothing words to his quivering Vongola box. “Sorry Garyuu, Sawada’s not EXTREME enough for my bet.”

 

That done, Mukuro gleefully turns to his next victim.

 

“Takeshi, we’re switching targets on the upcoming honey trap assignment,” he says silkily, taking obscene pleasure in seeing Yamamoto’s unflappable beam light smile turn brittle. “I get the twin yoga masters and you can handle that lovely Barda of Palermo and her thighs that crushed a thousand men.”

 

Yamamoto winces. “Haha…shit.”

 

“Who’s Barda?” Dino asks, frowning.

 

“The owner of Palermo’s shadiest brothel. She’s really a charming lady; she just has big…bones,” Yamamoto answers, looking as uncomfortable as he ever gets.

 

“Yes, charming in a way flatulence in a bath tub is charming,” Mukuro says, before turning to Yamamoto’s right. “Speaking of charming, Cavallone, your choice— do you want it on your manly chest or your bubbly buttcheeks?”

 

Dino covers his face with his hands, partly because of dismay at Mukuro’s accolades on his ass and mostly because of the sacrilege that he’s now forced to commit to his body. “Can’t I just name my next fatal injury after you?”

 

“Har har. I changed my mind, you’re getting that tattoo on your luscious posterior,” Mukuro says evilly, and ignores the sound of Dino burrowing his despair on Yamomoto’s shoulder.

 

Finally, Mukuro turns to the last of the participants. “And as for you, my little skylark…,” he purrs, lips curved into the sweet fey smile of someone who knows a hundred different ways to tame the savage beast and is a master of all of them. “It’s about time we made use of that lovely item I gave you last Christmas.” His two-toned eyes twinkle ominously. “And then some.”

 

Hibari glowers at everyone with a ferocity worthy of tearing through diamond studded Kevlar, daring them to even _ask_. No one does.

 

Which is why Mukuro sees it fit to continue. “I really don’t see why you hate it,” he says, deftly sidestepping the tonfa Hibari wings in his direction. “It has fifteen speeds, and customized to play your favourite school song on the highest setting you know.”

 

Hibari’s eyes promise vast amounts of bloodshed in someone’s immediate future, and his fingers are visibly twitching as if trying to scope out the nearest available windpipe to crush.

 

Which happens to be Yamamoto's, so he immediately takes action. “Reborn says that the Barone spy has not been properly interrogated yet. He’s in holding cell number—“

 

“—I’m on it,” Hibari interrupts brusquely, and strides out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

Ryohei immediately turns to Yamamoto. “WOW, you must EXTREMELY hate that spy!”

 

Yamamoto shrugs. “He tried to kill Tsuna—“

 

“—Foolish man.”

 

“—by planting box jellyfish in his bathtub and—”

 

“—EXTREME assassination attempt!”

 

“—tried to use Tsuna’s Ferrari for a getaway car, totally killing the wheels and suspension when ‘Dera activated the spiked driveway humps.”

 

Dino looks thunderous. “I hope Kyouya rearranges his internal organs _and_ his face.”

 

“Oh he definitely will,,” Mukuro reassures him. “For some unfathomable reason, Kyouya seems to be of the opinion that my end of the deal is equivalent to the rape of his scholarly heritage.”

 

Yamamoto’s brow furrows. “What, the Namimori egg vibe?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _That’s_ his big complaint? I’m gonna have ‘Rokudo Mukuro is a STUD’ in permanent ink on _my ass_ ,” Dino moans.

 

“Yes, and I strongly suggest using Helvetica,” Mukuro adds helpfully.

 

“Haha, oh man, Squalo’s gonna flip.”

 

Dino lifts his teary face from Yamamoto’s shoulder. “Because he’ll be apoplectic with anger or because he’s going to be laughing himself into a hernia?”

 

Yamamoto grins, though it looks like it’s causing him great pain to do so, which is all one needs to know about Mukuro’s natural ability to cause profound discomfort  simply by being present in the same room. “We’ll find out later.”

 

“This is EXTREMELY UPSETTING,” Ryohei complains. “How did you figure Sawada out?”

 

“I’m _me_ ,” Mukuro answers with a flippant smile, like it explains everything, and with a flourish, erases the contents of the whiteboard like they were never there at all.

 

*

 

“So how did it go?”

 

“Splendidly,” Mukuro answers as he carefully pours champagne on two flutes.  “I could’ve done it without your help, but a sure victory is always better than one of chance.”

 

“Good.” Sasagawa Kyoko tucks one stray hair behind her ear, and accepts the drink from Mukuro’s outstretched hand. “Worthy of a Dom Perignon bottle, I believe.”

 

“ _Insieme, per la vittoria_ ,” Mukuro murmurs, and clinks his glass against Kyoko’s.

 

Kyoko takes a sip from her flute. “Tomoe’s gotten good at picking up on yours and Hayato’s…designs on my husband,” she starts conversationally.

 

Mukuro raises one fine eyebrow but keeps up the same neutral tone. “Smart girl. Perhaps I’ll wait a few years, skip Tsunayoshi and possess her instead.”

 

“Mmm, I hear that Vindice’s improving their security this year,” Kyoko replies, her tone light and airy, smilingly unblinkingly into Mukuro’s eyes.  “Something about preparations for possible repeat offenders.”

 

Mukuro hides his grin behind his glass.  He has to hand it to Tsunayoshi--of all his mind-boggling personal achievements, marrying Sasagawa Kyoko was one of his finest. “I kid,” he assuages, taking a sip from his own drink, savouring the dry, fruity taste. Yet one of the many reasons to continuously harass Tsunayoshi--his efforts keep the alcohol cabinet well-stocked.  “Though I don’t suppose you have other illusion favours, in exchange for finally nailing your precious husband for my humble collection?”

 

“Hmmm, I don’t know.  You might just stab him in the back while you’re nailing him.”

 

“I assure you, I only mix business and pleasure on official, Vongola-sanctioned missions. Besides, I owe Tsunayoshi the honour of stabbing him upfront should any stabbing be necessary.”

 

Kyoko appears to consider this for a few moments, one manicured finger poised on her lower lip.  “Well,” she says after a while, bringing her glass back to her lips. “I guess that’s okay.” She takes another long sip of her champagne, her eyes twinkling merrily over the rim of the flute. “Though I do believe that in light of current events, you’ll have to take that up with Hayato as well.”

 

Mukuro sighs. “And there’s the rub.”

 

Kyoko smiles and delicately pats her mouth with a napkin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Mukuro, it’s Sushi Saturday today,” she says, standing up and extending her hand. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

 

“The like to you, my lady,” Mukuro says, with a gallant kiss on Kyoko’s hand. “Enjoy the bed of strawberry jello;  I’m particularly proud of that.”

 

Requisite congratulatory social call done, Mukuro leaves in the opposite direction, humming the latest tune of his weekly samba routine. His phone rings, _Mr. Roboto_ sings out of his pocket, and he picks it up. “I trust you enjoyed your time in your private Japanese robot wonderland?”

 

“The modifications you wanted for the machine have been made.”

 

“Excellent,” Mukuro replies delightedly. “And the cloud rings?”

 

“The original one is with me; I left the tampered—I mean, modified ring in the center table.”

 

 _So much wonderful news in one day._ Mukuro reins in the urge to rub his hands gleefully like a cliché evil overlord, and just settles for: “Perfect. Thank you for your patronage, Spanner. I shall contact you once we’re done.”

 

Before he can press the end button, Spanner pipes up again. “...Please make sure that there won’t be any Mosca casualties.”

 

“I assure you, no Moscas shall be harmed in the making of this documentary.”

 

“And Vongola?”

 

“He won’t find out," Mukuro quickly assures him. "If ever, just make an excuse and tell him I threatened you with tentacles.”

 

There's a short pause on the other end of the line.“…You _did_ threaten me with tentacles. And Transformers guro porn.”

 

“Did I?” Mukuro says absently. “Sorry, I employ that strategy far too often to remember who exactly I’ve used them on. Oh well, at least now you don’t have to lie!”

 

“I could’ve lived without knowing that Transformers guro exists,” Spanner argues, the resentment actually audible in his chill voice. “I would’ve been _happy._ ”

 

“Oh, stop complaining.  I did indulge you with your epic Gundam vs Macross dream showdown. “

 

“…I suppose," Spanner says, sounding like he wants to complain further but could not, on account of the fact that Mukuro really did a beautiful job on his Japanese mecha fantasies.  "You have four hours until Shoichi returns from his trip to Japan.”

 

“Time enough. Thank you again Spanner; you have been most invaluable.” He presses end, flips the phone closed and turns towards the last corridor, which houses the guardian’s quarters. He heads towards the last room on the left, shakes his head ruefully at the destroyed illusions on his door, and steps inside.

 

“Oh, Kyouya~,” he calls out, skilfully avoiding the crossbow bolts that come out of nowhere and subsequently fail to turn him to human shish kebab.

 

“Why can’t you just _die_.”

 

Mukuro turns towards the source of the voice, who is currently sitting cross-legged on a leather armchair, and returns that infamous glower with a beatific smile as walks further in, leaving the door open. On the Hibari murder scale, paltry arrow traps rank pretty low, meaning Hibari has at least been somewhat mollified for his untimely loss in his first and probably last attempt at a bet (he pities whatever subhuman state that poor Barone guy must be in right now).

 

Besides, this is nothing. The last time Mukuro _really_ pissed Hibari off (which was barely a week ago), Hibari actually made the effort to set up a tiger trap in Mukuro’s bathroom (how he managed to procure a white tiger, much less how he managed to commandeer it into Mukuro’s Jacuzzi tub is yet another one in the exponentially increasing list of things about his eternal rival that just _tickles_ Mukuro’s evil fancies). While it was supremely embarrassing to get mauled by a ferocious feline beast in the middle of taking a piss, the expression on Hibari’s face when Mukuro cheerfully handed him matching fur jackets (for the Siberia mission!) made the five grueling hours under Ryohei’s extremely loud care totally worth it.

 

So really, even if Hibari is still glaring at him with severe, incinerating intent, all in all, tonight, Mukuro knows he doesn’t have to work too hard to get his ornery bedmate in the mood.

 

“As much as I would love to bend you over right now and show you exactly why I _can’t_ die—,“ Mukuro dodges a hurled set of shinai at that, ”—I’m afraid that shall have to be postponed as I bring news on the latest ring research.”

 

Hibari’s homicidal aura immediately simmers down, his interest piqued, and he uncrosses his legs, sitting up straighter in his seat. “What is it?”

 

“Tsunayoshi asked me to tell you that Spanner just finished fortifying one of the cloud rings to Class A status,” he lies smoothly, noting how Hibari’s eyes glint hungrily at the information. “He’s asking if you could drop by the lab to test it.”

 

Predictably, Hibari is already on his feet and striding out the door. He scowls when Mukuro follows him out as well. “Why do _you_ need to come along?”

 

“Oh, but who will you test it _against_ , I wonder?” Mukuro replies, all saccharine tones and smiles, and drapes an arm around Hibari’s shoulders.

 

Hibari snarls and shoves him off, muttering “crowding” under his breath, but otherwise just keeps walking, not even batting an eyelid at Squalo’s screams of “FUCK THIS SHIT YOU’RE NEVER BOTTOMMING ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES AGAIN!” and “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT THAT BAD, MY LIBIDO JUST WENT INTO HIBERNATION JUST LOOKING AT IT!” shaking the walls of Yamamoto’s room.  Mukuro is sorely tempted to eavesdrop and savour the repercussions of his nefarious handiwork, but he is on a strict schedule, and Hibari waits for no one.

 

As they get closer to Spanner’s workshop, Hibari finally deigns to speak up again. “The lab,” he says quietly, before pausing briefly to look Mukuro in the eye, lips curled in his customary feral smirk. “How nostalgic.”

 

Of course he’s going to gloat. Mukuro hasn’t forgotten the humiliation he endured the last time he was in this room--getting a dose of one’s own medicine (or in his case, pink Japanese flora disease) is a lot less funny when he’s on the receiving end of it.

 

Which is why he spent days planting the seeds of mischief, cutting morally dubious deals with his boss’ wife and chief mechanic, and nearly getting frostbite in indelicate places in the cold Siberian mines to set up this sweet, delectable _revenge._

 

Mukuro’s smile takes a sinister curve for the briefest of moments but it quickly goes back to its usual state of casual arrogance,  giving Hibari no time to decide if he imagined it or not. “Indeed it is,” he murmurs, and pushes the door open.

 

~fin~

 


End file.
